Placebo
by God-King-Moth
Summary: Writing challenge: write a drabble/oneshot for each song on your favourite album. Warnings above each chapter. I'm mostly finished, so I'll probably add them on each day. M rating to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

:Heya! This is the first song of the album; warnings for panic attacks, mental fuckery, mental illness, hallucinating; all the fun stuff. This one really gave me a hard time; I'm still not too happy with it but it's better than nothing.:

1; Meds.

Ichigo feels the dry scrape of lips against the back of his neck; papery and cold and rough with peeling skin. He freezes; mind immediately turning over his memories of that morning with delicate precision, and he swallows a nasty curse. He focuses on the dry heat in the air; grounding himself as he thinks out his next steps carefully. He's being tailed- one of the groups of lowlife thugs that like to get their asses kicked; for all they antagonise him. They're clinging to him about a block and a half back, and he immediately ducks away; down side streets and less densely populated areas until he finds a small alley; dead-end side street.

 _Baby, did you forget to take your meds?_

He hopes he's lost them; because there are three ways this will go down and from the clues so far it's going the way he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemies. That; or he'll be a sitting duck for their tender mercies. He texts Chad quickly, 'I forgot my meds this morning', and tells him about the group of thugs that might still be searching him out. His head spins suddenly and his vision blurs nauseatingly. When it clears he finds himself lying on the cobblestone ground, thankfully relatively clean. He scrabbles for his discarded messenger bag, searching hopefully for his little container of pills, but he's not exactly surprise to find he's left it on his bedside table at home. His phone pings; Chad's probably replied but he can't quite be bothered to reach for it.

 _... Trying my best not to forget, what happened to us, what happened to me._

He feels the mouth slide along his skin again, curved in a grin; and he can't see anything, eyes staring straight up at the blue sky, but the skin of his throat prickles in the wake of it's passing. He focuses on his surroundings fervently, counting clouds and letting the scent of sun-warmed stone and brick flood his mind. He counts each breath, focusing next on the bend of his ribs and the swell of his chest.

He blinks and is surrounded on all sides, shoes pressed in around the lines of his splayed form and he's hyperventilating now, a sea of faces staring down at him.

 _I was confused by the powers that be, forgetting names and faces. Passers by, were looking at me, as if they could erase it._

They murmur, the susurration pressing at his ears and it's mocking, though he doesn't know what they're saying. The lips press to his pulse point and they feel like decay. He's probably screaming, on the outside, because no matter how real this feels it's all in his head.

"Aw, King, you haven't let me out in ages! Those pills you're always popping are such a downer, you know? It's like trying to talk through a steel door and soundproofing. Don't you miss our little chats?" The decaying lips mouth against his ear now and Ichigo thrashes; futile in his attempts to get away.

"You're not allowed out!" He snarls- he wants this to stop right now, damn it all- and when it does he blinks, startled. That never _works_. He gathers up his stuff, shoving scattered papers and his phone back into the bag and booking it out of the alley as faces start bubbling up from the cobblestone and the pavement and the brick houses that he passes with their white picket fences. They're grotesque, and he hates this, so he moves faster, long legs eating up the distance home. He recoils when the feeling of mouths- many, many dry paper mouths start dragging over the skin of his hands like a swarm of ants- and he scratches, ignoring the expressions the faces that move and push from everything around him pull as he passes, ignoring the worried looks of the few humans he passes as well. These things shouldn't be so liquid, shouldn't be turning to bastardized forms of human features- and it's unnerving. He's still hyperventilating, can't grasp the composure needed to regulate his breathing.

 _Baby...did you forget to take your meds?_

 _Baby...did you forget to take your meds?_

He's in a maelstrom of panic now, the mouth whispering at his ear even as equally dry papery hands claw at his ribs through his shirt. He needs to get away- run run run, and he tumbles through the front door of his house, avoiding Isshin more by desperate luck than seeing it coming. His father is instantly worried, understandably, because Ichigo is lying on the floor and sobbing, one of the faces in the polished wood laughing at him as cold hands shove at his neck, grinding his cheekbone against the hard floor.

 _What happened as I let it slip._

He's vaguely aware of pills sliding down his throat as his father helps him take them, but he's too out of it to make sense of the words the man speaks. Ichigo is firmly entrenched in fear; everything muffled and sluggish as he scratches, scratches, scratches at his hands. 'King, King, my useless scared little King' is a mantra in his head, the dry lips repeating it, mocking and cruel. He feels stripped down through to his bones and splintered.

 _Trying my best not to forget, all manner of joy, all manner of glee,_

 _and our one heroic pledge. How it mattered to us, how it mattered to me,_

 _and the consequences. I was confused... Forgetting if i meant it._

When he finally passes into blissful unconsciousness it's a blessed escape from the faces and whispers and unwelcome touches.

He wakes to the calm of his room, bandages and ice packs on his hands, and he winces when he moves them. He berates himself- he never forgets to take his meds. He hasn't forgotten for years and as a result is completely unprepared for a full-on episode.

He supposes he's just lucky he didn't have his breakdown until after school. God knows how that would have ended. He probably would have lashed out and hurt someone on accident.

He licks his lips and pulls a face. His whole body feels sore, and he vaguely recalls thrashing and flailing in the alleyway, which would explain why he feels like a living bruise. He always ends up scratching his hands to hell and back, so that's no surprise. He used to scratch his neck, too, leaving red welts.

He feels ashamed of himself, now. Ashamed for putting his father and Chad through the worry of him having an attack- Chad especially must be very concerned; Ichigo hadn't even checked his phone again- the consequences of this will probably be pretty bad. Isshin will be watching him like a hawk for at least a month, Chad will be on edge and wary and protective rolled into one, and Ichigo suddenly feels very tired again. His emotions are flaring wildly- and he finds sleep is probably the answer he's looking for in this circumstance. He can face his problems and his meds tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

:It's pretty short, but I absolutely adore Gin and I adore this song so I adored writing this, obviously. Warnings for; violence, probably a mild psychopath!Gin, blood, murderous thoughts, morally grey characters; and my personal favourite- Corpse Desecration!:

2; Infra-Red.

 _One last thing before I shuffle off the planet... I will be the one to make you crawl... So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday._

Gin would like to think he's a decent person- did, in fact, think it once upon a time. But he's participated in far too many awful things, shed far too much unnecessary blood and caused too much pain to say it truthfully. Not that truth ever really has a bearing on what words fall from his smiling mouth.

He's built mask upon masks upon iron clad fortresses to misdirect attention and suspicion; to confuse and warp and twist perceptions of him until he's not even sure where he is under all these layers.

 _One more thing before we start the final face-off; I will be the one to watch you fall._

Gin would like to think he's not a particularly hateful person. But that's a filthy lie and he knows it- takes a vindictive sort of pleasure in his hatred from behind his affably pleasant, off-putting exterior as he makes people feel uncomfortable with merely an ever present smile. But while he may have enough hate to smother a supernova he only really hates one person. All the hate he possesses, fixed and intensified on a singular target, and there is nothing he would not do to quench the hatred in blood and satisfied violence. He dreams of it, of being able to discard all his annoying disguises and false devotion and allegiance, and smear flesh and crimson up the bone-white walls of Las Noches, walk out into the sands covered in blood and smiling genuinely instead of porcelain-false with a slitted gaze.

 _So I came down to crash and burn your beggar's banquet... Someone call the ambulance... There's gonna be an accident._

Gin is, in fact, a very patient person. There's no lie or hidden aspect of himself behind this statement- he's exceedingly patient; and devoted only to following his own well-thought out plans to the letter after combing over them to find any conceivable error in every plot and concept. His skin itches and crawls and Shinsō sings wildly beneath his flesh and through his veins, but all this turmoil does is solidify his decision to wait. Patience, after all, is the only virtue Gin has, and he's rather proud of it- so he smiles and appears complacent and complicit.

He may look like a still pond, but inches below is a whirlpool of festering bloodlust and a need to scream and fight and move. But he doesn't- he suppresses it and smiles and inclines his head, murmurs 'Aizen-sama' and salivates at the mere thought of running the bastard through the chest with his zanpakuto.

 _I'm coming up on infra-red, there is no running that can hide you._

There's something to be said about how satisfying it is to know you've completed a job well. And if, during the completion of said job, you perhaps stabbed your target through the face an unnecessary amount of times, especially after their confirmed demise, well, that orange-haired boy that Aizen was certain was either unlimited in regards to potential or an ant to be crushed underfoot is grinning rather cruelly while it happens, so it can't be that disturbing. Gin doesn't really care either way, but the 'hero' of Karakura and Soul Society apiece seems much more interesting and vindictive than he expected, and Gin's regard of him goes up somewhat. He absently puts Shinsō through what's left of Aizen's cranium again, grinning coldly at the squish of brain matter under steel. He kicks the messy corpse for good measure. And, if Ichigo happens to join him in kicking the body a few times, Gin doesn't know what Aizen did to piss the kid off so thoroughly that the somewhat morally decent boy would stoop to desecrating a corpse, and he doesn't care. He certainly can't talk, and he wouldn't tell anyone anyway.

 _I'm coming up on infra-red, forget your running, I will find you._


	3. Chapter 3

:This one was pretty hard to write as well- and it turned into a character study half way through;; before any of the events Rukia kickstarts. Not sure if I got Uryuu's character down- and the song is a weird mix of 'love song' and 'I want to be you'. Warnings; self loathing, I guess? Children being hopeless and antagonistic. For chairdesklamp, I guess!:

3; Drag.

 _You're always ahead of the game, I drag behind. You never get caught in the rain; when I'm drenched to the bone every time._

Sometimes he's jealous. It's a bitter feeling, like acid, and it curls from the middle of his chest outwards, through his veins down to his fingers. For all of Uryuu's book smarts, his social skills are lacking to the extreme and jealousy is easy, too easy, when he looks up from his desk and sees Kurosaki smiling at one of the people that seem to gravitate towards him like he's the sun. With that hair, maybe he is.

He pushes his glasses back up from where they've slipped down his nose, ruthlessly smothering the irrational emotion- it's not like Kurosaki is rubbing his face in it; how could he when they barely even know each other?

But it still hurts and stings- mostly because Uryuu is just as drawn to him as everyone else seems to be; but he can't let himself reach out and befriend the scowling boy because he's been raised to be cold and uncaring and snide; and his pride as a Quincy leaves no room for trivial emotional bonds.

 _You're always ahead of the rest; when I'm always on time. You got A's on your algebra test; I failed and they kept me behind._

Ichigo grits his teeth slightly, eyeing the grade on his test paper. He balls up all his frustration and annoyance and self-doubt; and lets it all out again in one slow breath, calming himself down again. There's no point getting worked up about it- it's done and over and he obviously just has to work harder at it than most. Everyone else seems to have gotten better grades- and that stings, because Ichigo always studies hard; but even as the irrational envy rises he lets it go because it's not anyone's fault. He's just not as adept at algebra, obviously.

He spots Ishida at one of the desks in the back and suppresses a cold scowl at the slightly smug look on the dark-haired boy's face. No doubt he passed with flying colours as he always does. He's ranked number one in their year level for basically every class- Ichigo sits around 5 to 8; which isn't actually bad, but it feels bad when Ishida breezes past all of Ichigo's hard work without even looking like he's trying. It's aggravating; that he can do all these things Ichigo has to struggle and fight to even comprehend. And then Ishida looks up and the smug smile turns into a cruel kind of smirk, and his voice carries. "What, Kurosaki, did you fail miserably? With that delinquent hair of yours it's no wonder you're short on brain cells- all that bleaching must kill them off." Ichigo bristles and glares but turns away and stays silent. Instigating a fight will just make him look bad- it's pointless.

It still hurts though.

 _You're always ahead of the pack, I drag behind. You possess every trait that I lack, by coincidence or by design._

Uryuu is not naturally confrontational- rather it's been built up over the years as a defense mechanism. If he hides behind his mask of self righteousness and smug superiority- no one can get close enough to pick him apart, strip him to the bone and hurt him. He's smart, too, always has been- able to just grasp things and concepts and knowledge, and that only helps. But Ichigo- Ichigo bypasses all his walls just by existing in the same space as him. So he lashes out, irrationally, and then he feels guilty, which just makes him even more snappish. The three seconds of vindictive pleasure he gets after putting Ichigo down leave him feeling cold and like scum, so he turns his nose up and ignores the entire confrontation; whatever it was about this time.

Ichigo is sociable. He scowls, he grunts, he's generally kind of grumpy looking, but there's an undercurrent of warmth and kindness that makes people want to be his friend, and it's hard to ignore the tug. Ichigo wears his emotions on his sleeve- he's everything Uryuu isn't, and it's infuriating.

 _You're the monkey I got on my back, that tells me to shine. You're always ahead of the pack, while I drag behind._

Ichigo wonders, vaguely, if he'd work nearly so hard at his grades if it wasn't for Ishida's ever-present smug face in the classroom- his droll, sarcastic jabs and sneer. Probably not- and does that mean he's indebted to the other boy, for pushing him to try harder, work harder? He dismisses that idea very quickly. Ishida is generally unpleasant and rude and a genius; he's probably never had to work hard at anything to be the best at it. Class work probably comes as easy as breathing to him, and Ichigo feels envious again. Ishida may be a driving force behind Ichigo's work ethic, but he still wishes that he'd fuck off and stop being so damn stuck up all the time.

Ichigo blinks down at the snapped pencil in his hand and huffs, throwing it into the bin near the door of his room. He sighs, glaring down at the textbook as the words slide right through his mind. He closes it- he's not absorbing any of the information he's reading; he's too caught up in wanting to throw the aggravating Ishida through a window. Somehow, Ichigo realises, he admires the other boy- his intelligence and how singleminded he is when it comes to doing well. Which is why the rude comments about his intelligence and his hair sting all the more- he wants Ishida to respect him, even if he never likes him as a person. He wants to be looked at like another human; not something unpleasant he's just found on the bottom of his shoe- and boy is Ishida good at giving that look to people.

 _I just gotta get off my chest, that I think you're divine. You're always ahead of the rest, while I drag behind._

Uryuu might be a little conflicted when it comes to Ichigo Kurosaki. On one hand, the boy is an annoying, overly bright and loud presence in his life that could be happily removed and he wouldn't care a bit. On the other hand, he enjoys simply being around the other boy- not that it's easy to simply be around him, because Uryuu always manages to push it into cruel snark and fighting territory. But Ichigo really is a sun, or at least a shard of sunlight personified- the first time he sees Ichigo smile it's at Tatsuki and Orihime, and it's gone the next instant, but it lights up the whole room and reduces Orihime to a blushing mess; and Ishida is infuriatingly jealous that the smile wasn't directed at him instead. This just serves to make him even more annoyed- with himself, now, and that just manifests as self loathing which is automatically twisted to 'everyone else is at fault and is scum.' He gets into another verbal spat with Kurosaki, tears the other boy down until he looks close to just straight out punching Uryuu in the face, and that's exactly when Uryuu walks away, leaving Ichigo fuming and confused- because there's never any real reason for Uryuu to be so damn mean.

And how could he ever explain? That he wants to be included in Ichigo's precious circle of friends, that he wants some of that sunlight warmth for himself; but he can never have it, because Ryuuken would never approve and Uryuu has a one man war to wage against the shinigami anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

:I know this is pitifully short, and I am very sorry. But this song was impossible and the only idea I came up with- well, there's just not much to write about it. No real warnings except a general angst one?:

4; Space Monkey.

 _We're sewn together, she's born to mesmer- beside, astride her, I die inside her._

The bond between zanpakuto and wielder is, quite literally, soul deep. In the shinigami academy respect for your zanpakuto spirit is taught in spades because a bad relationship with them will kill you. No two ways about it- if you're at odds with your own soul you'll self destruct eventually, and that's why the trust between the two is so very very important.

Sode no Shirayuki had a certain amount of respect mixed with adoration for her partner- her shinigami, her wielder. Her short, dark-haired girl with a stronger soul than most would expect. No one else would ever hold and use her blade the right way- nor could they ever call on her power and have her give it unconditionally. Rukia was lucky, in Sode no Shirayuki's humble opinion. Very lucky, for her sword to be such an interesting part of her soul. Sode no Shirayuki was very much an aristocratic zanpakuto, proud of her appearance and of her shinigami in equal parts. Perhaps she could be compared to a rather possessive cat who loved their human-because she loved Rukia, would protect her with all she had and support her in every decision- just not this one. Anything but this one.

 _It's far too sacred, don't ever fake it, and don't, and don't, and don't let me down..._

 _Like you let me down before,_

 _Like you let me down before._

Rukia could feel her sword screaming; as the human boy with the bright hair consumed her power with all the ferocity of a hollow. She hadn't intended this- only intended to give a fraction, just enough to trigger the boy's already plentiful reiatsu. Instead she could feel her power being drained, leaving her weak and empty and her connection to Sode no Shirayuki painful and tenuous. Rukia had never been so scared in her life- losing her zanpakuto was not part of the plan; she'd rather die than subject herself and her partner to something so abjectly terrifying and lonely and awful.

The time it took to even begin to recover played havoc on her already frayed nerves- the longer she went without hearing so much as a word from her zanpakuto the more concerned she became.

Preparing to be executed, stuck in a dark room with one window and a collar suppressing her pitiful reiatsu, she wondered if she'd ever get to hold her sword again, feel the comforting whisper of the safe, cold presence at the back of her mind.

She doubted it- and somehow that hurt far more than her brother turning his back on her.

And, perhaps, if Sode no Shirayuki is slower to trust her wielder after this, it is not so surprising.


	5. Chapter 5

:Oh my god this one was like choking down glass shards. Ugh. This song fucked me over and all I could think of for it was this far too literal imagining. I feel ashamed of myself. Warning; PTSD and mental trauma, graphic imagining of violence/doing harm, breaking and entering? I guess? Very unhappy Ichigo. I hate this, I'm sorry.:

5; Follow the Cops Back Home.

 _The call to arms was never true, time to imbibe, here's to you. I'll tell you stories; bruised and blue, drum machines and landslides._

Ichigo still wakes up each morning grasping for Zangetsu to block the incoming strike of a sword- to deflect a Kido, to go for the killing blow, instinctively pulling for his mask with his other hand, drawing his fingers over his face, seeking to raise his reiatsu in response to a threat. It leaves him panicked and wild and soaked in sweat- each night is the same.

He's broken, he thinks. There's no fixing him. He's a crippled soldier with no gun, and he's won the war so there's no battlefield to return to anyway. He could toast to Aizen- he still managed to win even after death. Ichigo is useless, and that's somehow worse. He can't protect anyone now, and everyone treats him like glass because of it. They refuse to talk about anything around him anymore- like they think excluding him will help, somehow.

It just makes him want to scream at them. Cutting him out of the world he gave everything for, gave his powers, his sword, parts of his very soul- how anyone thinks it's a good idea baffles him.

Ichigo could probably give a therapist a run for their money - a supernatural war waged by ghosts. He might even have books written about his incredibly detailed delusions. It makes him chuckle, sometimes, the thought of that. How scandalised his friends would be- though he's having trouble calling them his friends now. They've pulled away so thoroughly he barely sees them. It hurts, that the only common thread they had in the end was fighting hollows.

 _The call to arms was never true, I'm medicated, how are you? Let's take a dive swim right through, sophisticated point of view._

The one and only time Isshin tried to continue their morning surprise attack routine Ichigo nearly snapped his neck; terrified fight/flight instincts turning him into a soldier instead of a teenaged boy. He's been treated like a soldier, though- and the entirety of Seireitei seemed perfectly content to let him, barely a tenth of their ages, fight all of their battles for them. In the moment it didn't matter because he was protecting- he was fulfilling his purpose; helping and saving and protecting and fighting. It's what he's always been good at, isn't it?

Isshin gives him pills- because Ichigo isn't behaving normally anymore. They're supposed to keep him calm; because he reacts badly to surprises now, because he wakes up coming back from a warzone.

Ichigo doesn't think it's particularly surprising, really. After all, how do they expect him to go from soldier to powerless and broken to normal human high school student? It doesn't make sense to him- if this was all different, if he'd been a child soldier in a human war- and that's what he is, he realises- he'd be in intensive therapy.

The pills make him sluggish; which he views as a weakness, so it just makes him paranoid. He sees enemies everywhere, now, still dreams of Aizen tearing apart at the seams and turning into something grotesque. Isshin ups the dose and Ichigo turns into a jumpy ghost of himself. He sees it happening and he hates it- but Isshin refuses to listen to anything he says- he's been so effectively stonewalled from both his father and Karin by virtue of being powerless.

Is that all he's worth?

 _Let's follow the cops back home. Follow the cops back home. Let's follow the cops back home, and rob their houses._

Perhaps it starts because even the street gangs and lowlifes avoid him now. He's become more brutal in how he lays them out when they confront him- it's something he always used to wish for- to be left alone, but now he wants to fight them. It's ironic, and frustrating.

So he trails one of the police cruisers on their rounds. It's easy- they go slowly round each block so all he has to do is stick to the shadows so they can't see him from their car. It reminds him of hiding in ruined houses, trying to mask his presence to get a moment of reprieve- and while one part of him wants to forget the entire war, let it go and just heal; the rest of him is angry and frustrated and still fighting in the remains of Karakura against an impossible enemy.

He's not sure how it shifted to robbing the houses of policemen. He has a specific type of target- no children or spouse. Relatively well-off. Home by nightfall, because there's more risk and thrill when they're asleep in the house.

It's almost painfully easy to teach himself how to pick locks and avoid alarms and security cameras- he just thinks of it as a life-or-death situation and that 'limitless learning potential' does the rest. It's curious, how easy he finds it.

He doesn't take things that are valuable so much as interesting. An oddly coloured glass bottle, a photograph of a far-away beach, foreign candy, a brass telescope, a set of art utensils. Sometimes he doesn't find anything that catches his attention, so he leaves as silently as he came.

 _I'll give you nothing else to do, now we're stuck on rewind._

 _Let's follow the cops back home, follow the cops back home, let's follow the cops back home, and rob their houses._

He stops taking the pills- starts forcing himself out of the state waking up puts him in. He still stiffens whenever someone stands behind him, still twitches at loud noises. He's nowhere near ok; he's not likely to be ok for a long time. But he can pretend to be ok- he pretends for Yuzu, and so his father will stop watching him like a hawk, and so Karin will stop looking so pitifully guilty.

Sometimes he gets so angry with all of them he feels like he could kill them. Feels like he could punch Karin in the face until her jaw breaks, feels like he could strangle Isshin, crack Orihime's head against a wall, gouge out Chad's eyes, burn Uryuu alive. And then he deflates and feels sick to his stomach- his precious people don't deserve that, ever. It's not fair, and it's not his fault, but it's not theirs either - they're just dealing poorly. Almost as poorly as he is.

It still aches and hurts and makes him angry; when Karin pulls an excuse for why she's home later than usual when he knows she's going to Urahara's. When Chad and Orihime and Uryuu make excuses to him when they could very well just tell him they have to go fight a hollow.

Maybe, he thinks. Maybe I could rob them, next. Take something interesting and precious. Precious enough they'd feel as empty as I do.


	6. Chapter 6

:*sweats nervously, shifts and stutters, eyes darting about* I don't know what you're talking about; the unhealthy dichotomy between Ichigo and the hollow part of his soul isn't at all interesting or intriguing to me, shut up. The song wasn't easy to think of something for; I ended up cutting out a lot of the lyrics that just didn't fit. Or, they would have, but made it creepy-sexual in a way that wasn't specifically to imply dominance through physical claiming- yes, I did do that on purpose. The vaguely assault-y feeling is intentional! Also until my good friend decides to grace me with his name in their blessed au, Ichigo's hollow is dubbed 'Not-Ichigo', because I fucking can. Anyway; this was kinda fun to write. I love me some angst. Warnings; **Ichigo's hollow**. He's a warning all by his lonesome. Blood, murder, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, manipulation, creepy possessiveness, biting, vomiting. And yes, ffnet, I KNOW that's not a word, but the lyrics call for it! Stop correcting me!:

6; Post Blue.

 _It's in the water baby,_

 _It's in the pills that bring you down,_

 _It's in the water baby..._

 _It's in your frequency,_

 _It's in the water baby,_

 _It's between you and me._

Orihime knew she was right to be scared of that mask. Of the power Ichigo had found and harnessed and-

And died despite having. And then he'd come back and she'd hoped that everything would be ok, Kurosaki-kun wouldn't let death stop him of course- he's always there to protect everyone.

Except this isn't Ichigo. It's Not-Ichigo and he's terrifying and wrong. He's boneless in the way he moves, swaying unnaturally out of the way of Ulquiorra's blows, and spines do not bend like that-

Not-Ichigo screams like a hollow screams, empty and hungry and violent, and the sheer surge of reiatsu sends her hair whipping violently about her face. Not-Ichigo absolutely obliterates Ulquiorra- and Orihime is sobbing because Kurosaki-kun would never do this. This isn't how he fights- it's brutal and terrifying.

And then Ishida tries to stop him, and she doesn't even have the time to move to try and protect him before Not-Ichigo cuts off his head.

She's vaguely aware of someone screaming, long and high and terrified; and it's her. Ishida crumples like a puppet with it's strings cut and his head rolls- and Orihime vomits, barely managing to avoid splattering herself with bile. Everything has gone terribly, terribly wrong and it's all her fault. This is her fault. They all came here for her.

 _It's in the water baby,_

 _It's in the pills that pick you up,_

 _It's in the water baby..._

 _It's in your family tree,_

 _It's in the water baby,_

 _It's between you and me._

Ichigo is being held underwater- he can't breathe and his lungs burn, and there are clawed hands twisting in his hair in a sick parody of a lovers caress. Deep, deep down further into the blackness he can hear the echoes of someone screaming, and it rattles him to the core. He inhales water and it stings and does nothing to ease his burning need for air, and he thrashes. One of the hands drags down the back of his neck and along his spine, and he manages to push himself up for air, gasping desperately; and he's greeted by a low, echoing chuckle before he's being forced under again, his desperate thrashing doing absolutely nothing to help free him.

Another gulp of water to his lungs and when he's dragged up he coughs the liquid up, and it burns his raw throat. Cold hands slip over his face and cover his eyes like the childish game of 'guess who'; and Ichigo is too weak and rattled to push them away even as he feels claws press into the bridge of his nose.

 _Bite the hand that feeds, tap the vein that bleeds. Down on my bended knees._

Not-Ichigo grins wider at his kneeling King, weak and confused and scared. Malleable. He drags his hands back away from worried honey eyes and combs them almost lovingly through orange locks, long and cascading down his King's back. "Let me protect you. I'll kill Aizen. Everyone will be safe from him." Ichigo goes to protest, and Not-Ichigo drags a claw threateningly over Ichigo's throat. "You're already dead, King. There's no going back. Let me take care of everything."

Ichigo shakes his head and Not-Ichigo is tired of his King refusing his assistance, so he presses him down until he's on his hands and knees and bites down into his shoulder. Ichigo fights and yells and kicks, and Not-Ichigo keeps his teeth in peach flesh until Ichigo wears himself out.

He pulls back, then, making sure to tear at the wound so it's open and raw and dripping blood onto the mirror-still water below. "King. Let me help you. Your friends will never be hurt again, I promise. We'll protect them."

After all, the best way to protect them is to eat them and keep them safe and close and warm and within his King's power.

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you,_

 _I'd break the back of love for you._

Ichigo shivers and breaks apart at the seams, and the endless screaming he can hear vibrates the water he's lying on. He nods- he's so tired. He can't fight back even if he wanted to; and he's weak. He can't protect anyone like this. If his hollow will protect them-he'd give himself up.

He'd give up anything to protect his precious people.

Not-Ichigo drags him up onto the nearest skyscraper roughly and shoves him into a chair-shaped mound of bones that has never been there before. The sky is cracking above-next to them, because gravity and perspective has shifted dizzily and they're sideways again. He stares out at the other skyscrapers and then down at his feet where the hollow is practically vibrating with glee, kneeling before him, broken mask shards clinging to his pale face as his inverted eyes stare up at Ichigo with a disturbing amount of longing and want and satisfaction.

Ichigo just nods again, unspoken permission and agreement and submission- and drifts into sweet unconsciousness to Not-Ichigo's hysterical cackles and claws digging into his knees; in servitude to the King when his are the hands pulling the strings.

And outside, where he can't see, Orihime's spine snaps and leaves her dead.


End file.
